


Silvertongue

by proximally



Series: < human [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, more ghost than human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proximally/pseuds/proximally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to his friends and family, Danny is a terrible liar. Truth is, he's lying about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silvertongue

**Author's Note:**

> Written February 2014.

_What, these? Um, well, long story short, I kinda tripped over a bench..._

The lies slip off your tongue like liquid helium and the faint embarrassment you inject into your tone is flawless. It’s a perfectly plausible reason for the black eye and the nosebleed, especially given your track record of clumsiness.

_Yeah, I don't know how I managed it either..._

Oh yes, Danny Fenton is the clumsiest person anyone could ever hope to meet, and it’s all perfectly on purpose - sheer clumsiness is such a terribly useful excuse for injury. Of course, you can’t use it for everything - if nothing else, that would start looking suspicious pretty quick. No, overuse is to be avoided at all costs. You usually reserve it for when you haven’t had the time to think of anything better. Quick-fire lies might be difficult for some, but for you it’s second nature - almost literally. You’re good at sheepish bemusement.

_Okay, okay, I skipped detention so I could go to the fair with Sam and Tuck._

Misdirection is a large part of your arsenal, too; one of your best. Concede doing something bad - but never _that_ bad - and they’d focus on that and forget how Sam was out of town for a few days and Tucker was home sick. By the time they thought to check their facts, Sam would be back and Tuck would be up and about with only the occasional sniff to evidence his illness.

_Don't be too mad? We never got to go last year - not all three of us - and college is only a year away..._

Ah, the classic guilt-trip. Perfectly tailored to pluck at the heartstrings of parents who work nigh 24/7 and feel they don’t spend enough time with their precious children. Guaranteed to lighten almost any sentence, but to be used sparingly. They’d only believe you so many times, as you’ve learnt from The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

_Look, I'm fine. Absolutely fine._

_...Okay. No I'm not. I think my nose is broken, and I might've sprained my wrist..._

Similar to misdirection, but far more useful. This was lying by telling the truth: start with point-blank denial, but give in to demand and let out a few rare genuine facts. This formed the basis for every other tactic you employ - you can’t lie to someone who believes you untrustworthy. Build trust through telling truths, make them believe that you will always tell them where it hurts, where you’ve been, what you were doing. Belief is the biggest part of lying - you learned that years ago.

_I don't know why you're here, Plasmius, and I don't care - get **out**._

It’s all an act. It has been since you stepped foot in the Portal. You still pretend that your nightmares aren’t haunted by your own dying screams. Act like the reason you’ve never removed your jumpsuit isn’t because of the eerie fractals on your chest. You pretend to loathe your ‘dear uncle’, feign pure, undiluted hatred in his presence - oh, you hated him before, before you became such a good actor, it’s so easy for you to emulate it now. You’re so genuine even the great deceiver is fooled. He thinks you’re weak, blinded by emotion. You’re happy to let him.

 _I'm trying to_ help _!_

Ironic how your parents have a better grasp on the psychology of ghosts - or at least, _your_ ghost - than anyone would care to believe. Even the ghosts. Even Vlad, who should know better. But then, your accidents were so different - maybe he isn’t so in touch with his ghost as you are. Maybe he’s not so dead. Maybe he doesn’t feel like a dislocated consciousness, attached to a hollow shell of a body, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Maybe it’s just you. That’s a strange thought.

_I love you guys._

Odd to feel so alone. Like you’re the only sane man, the only one who understands. You know that other people have thoughts, feelings, desires, knowledge, you know that intimately - it’s not as if you’ve never overshadowed anyone. But for all the minds you’ve known, you’ve never known one quite like that which your own has become. It’s the ghost in you, you decide. That’s why your head feels so clear. Ghosts don’t have emotions; that’s what you were always told.

_Aw man, I forgot the thermos-_

You think it’s the human side of you that helps you fit in so well. In the time before - before the Portal, before the ghosts, before everything - you felt so _much_. The memories you have from then are strange, distorted, entirely subjective. Things seem more beautiful, more ugly, time flows quicker. There are gaps. It’s a human memory, you now understand. That’s what most human minds are like. You can’t imagine how you’d coped. Well. That’s not true; you strive to emulate that as much as you can. Live up to expectations. 

_Yeah, I was up all night...again. Didn’t have time…_

Your friends think you should be tired, no, _exhausted_ , after spending so much of your time fighting ghosts. You oblige them; you pretend to sleep in class, do badly on tests, accept every detention with a rueful smile. It doesn’t matter that your memory is boundless, sharp and efficient as a knife edge. Danny Fenton was never any good at remembering facts and figures, and you’re still Danny Fenton, right? Of course. So you forget things. Exactly as many things as you did before. You’re nothing if not consistent.

_I’m still human, though._

You haven’t spoken to anyone about this. You don’t know why, but you don’t want your friends to find out. Maybe it’s some lingering worry from your human days - you don’t want them to worry - but maybe it’s your sense of self-preservation. You don’t know what they’d do if they knew - seal you in a thermos, bury you six feet under, where your body ought to be? Maybe. It’s not worth the risk, in your opinion. If there’s one human sentiment that still lives on within you, it’s the desire to survive. The desire to _be_ , against all odds. Something about what you’ve become scares you witless. But…you’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t feel…do they?

_I'm okay._

You find it funny, really, how even the few who know you best still can’t tell when you’re lying.


End file.
